H. De Vere Stacpoole

Satan


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       H. De Vere Stacpoole

      Satan

      A Romance of the Bahamas

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066232245

       PART I

       SATAN

       CHAPTER I PALM ISLAND

       CHAPTER II A FLOATING CARAVAN

       CHAPTER III BREAKFAST

       CHAPTER IV PAP’S SUIT

       CHAPTER V THE PORTMANTEAU

       CHAPTER VI SKELTON SAILS

       CHAPTER VII CARQUINEZ

       CHAPTER VIII JUDE OVERDOES IT

       CHAPTER IX THE “JUAN” SAILS

       CHAPTER X CUSS WORDS

       CHAPTER XI THE COMING OF CLEARY

       CHAPTER XII AN HONEST MAN

       CHAPTER XIII PROBLEMS

       CHAPTER XIV HANTS AND OTHER THINGS

       CHAPTER XV UNDER WAY

       CHAPTER XVI THE STEERSMAN

       PART II

       CHAPTER XVII LONE REEF

       CHAPTER XVIII THE WRECK

       CHAPTER XIX MUTINY

       CHAPTER XX THE SANDSPIT

       CHAPTER XXI DISHED

       CHAPTER XXII THE CRABS

       CHAPTER XXIII THE RETURN

       CHAPTER XXIV A BOTTLE OF RUM

       CHAPTER XXV THEY FIRE THE FUSE

       CHAPTER XXVI THE CARGO

       CHAPTER XXVII CROCKERY WARE

       CHAPTER XXVIII TIDE AND CURRENT

       CHAPTER XXIX SATAN IN PARADISE

       CHAPTER XXX A SECRET OF THE SAND

       CHAPTER XXXI THE GO-ASHORE HAT

       CHAPTER XXXII CLEARY!

       CHAPTER XXXIII THE FIGHT

       CHAPTER XXXIV “I’LL TAK!”

       PART III

       CHAPTER XXXV THE VANISHED LIGHT

       CHAPTER XXXVI THE WEDDING PRESENT

      PART I

       Table of Contents

      SATAN

       Table of Contents

       PALM ISLAND

       Table of Contents

      The sky from sea-line to sea-line was crusted with stars, a triumphant, cloudless, tropic night-sky beneath which the Dryad rode at her anchor, lifting lazily to the swell flowing up from beyond the great Bahama bank.

      She was Skelton’s boat, a six-hundred-tonner, turbine engined, rigged with everything new in the way of sea valves and patent gadgets, and she had anchored at sundown off Palm Island, a tiny spot, gull haunted, and due west of Andros.

      Skelton was a Christchurch man, Bobby Ratcliffe a Brazenose, and Bobby, tonight, as he leaned on the starboard rail smoking and listening to the wash of the waves on the island beach, was thinking of Skelton, who was down below writing up his diary. Before coming on this “winter cruise to the West Indies in my yacht” Bobby did not know that Skelton kept a diary, that Skelton was so awfully Anglican, so precise, so stuffed with the convenances, that he dined in dress clothes even in a hurricane, that he had a very nasty, naggling temper, that he had prayers every Sunday morning in the cabin which the chief steward, the under stewards, and the officers off watch were expected to attend—also Bobby. Two other men were booked for the cruise, but they cried